


Across the Universe

by ellethom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 20:05:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellethom/pseuds/ellethom
Summary: Every painting tells a story, some sad, some happy.  This is both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WeirdDaydreamingFangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdDaydreamingFangirl/gifts).



> FOr WeirdDayDreamingFangirl who was nice enough to share. thanks so much sweety, keep writing I live for your fics

He had the thing commissioned after the Queen had sent him back to Casterly to set the Westerlands to rights. He’d spent two years of the twenty year peace atop his mountain of gold, but the ghosts would not leave him be. 

Daven told him he was an idiot to have it drawn; that the Kingslayer and His Whore had no place in the hall of portraits there. That his current Queen wouldn’t appreciate the homage to the two knights who fought in the final battle; no matter how many songs were written about their valor. “I miss him too,” Daven told the Lord Tyrion as they sat in between their cups. “But that tale, those two. To put them here in this place would anger our present...rulers.”

Tyrion’s smile was a ghost of his brother’s but no less cutting. “I’m the Lord of this accursed gold heap and I will do as I please.” he replied. “And, he’s my brother. He deserves a place here as much as any of the others who held The Rock.”

He found a painter, a half wit from a less than noble family in the Reach. The kid was mute but could paint as if the Smith himself guided his hand. He had no reference for the girl, he’d only seen her for a short time before she left for her newly reclaimed island after bending the knee. He’d seen her again when he returned his not-nephew to her with a final plea from his brother. 

No one would ever know that Evenfall Hall was forever a Lannister line.

Tyrion set his glass down on the table as he continued to tell the story of the Kingslayer and The Beauty. The kid could not have been more than 13, but he nodded at the right places and continued to make his small sketches. Tyrion knew the story from his brother; the last night of Jaime’s life and his brother could speak of naught else but the the tall girl with the dour face. 

“They were in love.” He told the boy, “And it was as sad and tragic as that moniker denotes.” But the boy just smiled, nodded and turned back to his work. Tyrion watched him as he worked in his solar. The silence pierced only by Tyrion’s continued ruminations over his lost brother and the woman he loved. He even told the boy about Cersei; a confession not his to make but no other voices left to counter his side of the tale. 

“Her eyes” he reminded the boy one night. “You have to get them right.” The boy seemed to consider Tyrion as if he had lost his mind. 

Perhaps he had.

“It’s important, please.” Tyrion went on. “Jaime,” he pointed to the figure in Lannister armor. “When he spoke of her, it was her eyes that struck him. Do you understand?”

It took nearly a full turn of the sky before the boy finished the painting. A beautiful sprawling portrait of two people three quarter turned facing a heart tree with their hands together. He had captured both their faces in exquisite detail and even made sure that the figure in blue armor was taller and broader than that of the man with the golden hand. Their swords at their sides, their faces held in rapt consideration of each other.

It was perfection.

Tyrion was sure it would one day languish into obscurity; some future lordling of Casterly, fuelled by either shame or indifference, would relegate the memory to a dusty corner of the Rock. But, Tyrion would ensure that as long as he drew breath, that painting would sit in the main hall for all to see. 

He’d paid the boy far too much gold for his year of labor and made sure to keep him busy making the rest of the fallen heroes. The other paintings were nowhere near the glory of the first one, but he hung them all in the Great Hall; but the portrait of Ser Goldenhand the Just and The Beauty held the slot of honor in the Hall.

He always found himself saluting the portrait, either with his goblet, or a small bow, or with a wave of his small hand. 

It had been the weight that had been pulling him down into his memories. He had the weight of knowing their story, the weight of knowing where Tommen was now and that he was alive. The weight of Tysha mirrored in the eyes of his not good sister. Having their painting made was a catharsis he had not expected. Seeing them in that painting, together, holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes was a reminder of the good that still held true in the realm. Jaime Lannister had to die, there was no way around it. He was not able to convince the Queen to spare his brother nor the ten year old that remained. He knew he could not sneak Jaime out of the Red Keep, but one night, he managed to swap some poor dead boy with his nephew. Bronn was happy to help and for once didn’t have his hand out in payment.

When Tyrion had admitted his charade in their last talk Jaime had smiled at his brother and asked if that was a debt paid.

“No,” Tyrion had shook his head that last night over the wine and fowl. “This one's on me.”

Tyrion finished his last bit of wine, one last tilt to the portrait above him and sauntered off to bed. He prayed, as he always did when climbing to the Lord’s chamber, that somewhere, someday, he would see his brother again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second part is contemporary. Please enjoy

“Brie, please. It's a big deal and no one else has the...finesse.” Renly’s blue eyes flashed to the group of artists plying through the new shipment from Casterly. 

“What about Loras?” She asked hoping it didn't come out too bitter or bitchy.

Renly shrugged from his seat across from her. “Look, I love my husband, but he can be a bit too...artistic with restorations.”

“You mispronounced self indulgent.” she fired back, not caring how it sounded. 

To her surprise Renly nodded. “Yeah, Okay. He can get his own eye into too much of it. That’s why I am asking you to do this one.”

“Sansa is good.” She tried. 

“She is, and as soon as she has the experience you do then i will be granting her the same opportunities. Please Brie. The Lannisters are a big deal, all the other paintings aren't in this bad of shape. This one looks like it's been dipped in wildfire and lit. Please?”

She sighed, knowing that she could never deny the man anything. “Alright, Renly. But i get full creative license on this one.” after a beat she added. “And full credit.”

Renly nodded again. “Just remember that a commision like this one for our little piss ant studio could mean life or death.”

“So, no pressure then?” she spat turning to leave for her own small studio.

“Don’t be like that, Brie. You know how I feel about you.”

Like a canker. She thought to herself but smiled anyway. “It's already set up in your office. You're the best we have, Brie. I know leaving this in your hands is the right thing to do.”

His voice continued to whinge through her psyche as she made her way down the cavernous hallway into the room that was hers. The lighting wasn’t the best in the studio (Loras got that and it still did nothing for his heavy handed handling of other people’s work). Art restoration wasn’t like being a painter yourself, more like the cleaning lady. You had to remove everything you learned in graduate art classes and appreciate the strokes, brush work and stylistic lines of someone else’s work. 

The painting was large, posed on an easel she had not seen before. The covering removed, Brienne could see that her dance card was full for the foreseeable future.

After taking a million pictures with the special light on the picture, Brienne squinted trying to make out the original art. She hoped the grime covering it was organic; synthetic crud took so much longer to clean and rebuild from.

She took samples from various parts of the painting and sent them off with Pod to be analyzed. He paused at the picture a little too long before speaking. “Are you sure this one can be saved?”

“All paintings can be saved, Podrick.” she told her assistant come apprentice. “The trick is maintaining it's original state.”

Pod nodded. “This came with that batch from Casterly?” he asked wide eyed. 

Remembering that Pod had grew up in the shadow of the famous great house she nodded. “You’re from Lannisport, right?”

“Near enough.” he nodded.

“Then you can be a great help in this restoration. Think you can handle it?”

His broad and shy smile lit up his youthful face. “Really?” he asked.

Brienne nodded, “You can start by getting those off to the lab and then helping me stretch the canvas out.”

 

 

The results were as confounding as the portrait itself. The provenance was short, it had only had one owner; the Lannisters of Casterly. There wasn't much to the document either; just a clear citation of ownership and a small note of commision. The name of the original painter was lost to time; but the original commissioner had been Tyrion the Wise after the Long Night; some five hundred years before. There were no pictures of the painting to go by, no one had touched the painting in over two hundred years.

“Ser Goldenhand and the Just Maid.” she mouthed to herself as she considered the document. She hated these type of paintings; all renaissance romantic notions and plain scaling and perspective. 

The grime covering the painting was a confusing mixture of natural decay around the framing, with oil based intentional crud covering the bulk of the image. She sighed and rubbed her temples as she considered her plan of attack.

Pod brought in the requested supplies in a large box and began to arrange the solutions and tonics at her work table. “So, where do we start?”

Brienne considered the painting that now hung stretched over the work easel. The craquelure allowed for some of the original work to be seen, but only in fine lined and pale fragments. “The corners.” she announced. “There aren't any originals that can be found, so I have to go by the other paintings commissioned by Tyrion the Wise. Apparently he used the same artist.”

She pointed to sections of the piece and explained her detailed ideas for continuing the process. Renly had stressed again at the meeting earlier in the week when the ten restorers and five scientists had gathered to discuss the plan for going forward. 

“It's oil based paint on canvas, but we all agreed since they came from Casterly and were originally commissioned there, the materials would be the top of their end for the time.”

Pod nodded. “Which isn't always a good thing because the paints used in high end art during the Renaissance wasn't always best for the long haul.”

She was always surprised at Pod; he was smart, attentive and always listened. Spitting her words back to her nearly verbatim earned him a smile. “Good work, Pod. This is oil based with metals, stone and even precious stones used as a base. We should get started.”

 

“You need to talk to him.” Renly insisted through clenched teeth. “How can someone with so much money have enough time to make so many phone calls?”

Brienne shrugged and refused to give her own commentary; of course the rich had more time to be as annoying as possible to those who had to work to pay their bills. She took the phone from Renly and painted a smile across her voice. “Mr. Lannister?” she said into the phone.

“Ah,” the posh voice swooned from across the distance. “Am I to assume that you are the person I should have been speaking with all along?”

Brienne gritted her teeth and flashed Renly a grimace that promised a future death. “Yes, Mr. Lannister, I am the restoration expert handling that particular painting.”

“Good.” he said with jovality. “I am in need of an update. That piece is the pivotal painting of the collection.” he said. “My family discovered these in a hidden part of the Rock. They did not fare well due to the inherent moisture of Casterly.”

“I understand.” she said simply.

“And of course the one you are working on; it has a nefarious history.”

“That wasn't listed on the provenance, Mr. Lannister.”

“Tyrion, please. And your name is?”

She had a feeling he already knew that, but answered nonetheless “Tarth. Brienne Tarth.”

“Really?” he asked after a strange silence. “Any relation to th--” 

“Distant.” She said curtly with another death glare to her boss. “Mr. Lannister, the restoration is going as it has the last half a dozen times that you called.”

“Tyrion, please. And yes, I see. Would it be easier to have a scheduled update every say, two weeks?”

Brienne’s shoulders slumped. This was the worst part of her job, working with noobs who had no idea how the process worked. “It's a slow process Mr.--Tyrion. I doubt these calls could be anything more than a hindrance in the process.”

“I see.” he said, “but it would help things from my end.”

She was getting frustrated, and Renly’s nervous tapping from his end wasn't helping at all. “What about a detailed email with photos sent from my assistant, say, once a week?”

The silence on the other end of the line worried her; these rich ones were used to having constant point of contact for all their woes. When she had worked on the pieces from the Baelor exhibit last year, she had warred with the fantasy of placing her fist through the face of the too young curator. “That’s reasonable, if we can still converse once a month?”

She nodded but said yes and ended the call with as little frivolity as she was known for. Renly let out a long breath and straightened in his seat. “I ought to have you handle all of these calls.” he said.

“You could, then Loras and Margaery could handle all the restorations. Along with Hyle and that asshole friend of his.”

Renly flashed a luxuriant smile she knew he only reserved when he really wanted her to do something for him. He knew how she felt for him, even after his recent marriage. The feelings were still there but had faded into a shallow and haunting steady buzz under her skin. “Thanks, Brie.”

 

Months of careful work and long hours had uncovered a beautiful and surprising use of color from the outline of the painting. Renly had wanted her to start in the center, but Brienne knew that she could get a better sense of the palette from the outside. And the difference in what coated the middle would be a longer and more arduous task. 

“It's beautiful.” Pod announced one morning as they finished the edges and had moved to the inner edge. “The use of colors and brush stroke is amazing. It's different from the other paintings from the collection.”

Brienne had to agree, “Take the scans Pod, and the photos. Make sure you send it all to Mr. Lannister.”

“I just sent him an email two days ago.” Pod corrected.

“He’s a fussy one,” she said with a scowl. “And he’ll want to see the painting before we start the secondary restorative process.”

 

Two months later, and the figure began to emerge from her careful and tedious cleaning. On the right side of the painting was a man in red and gold armor with what had to be a red cape fluttering in the imaginary wind. The man seemed to be looking to his right, arm stretched to something on the the side of the painting. 

Pod entered the room and insisted on her coming to the phone. “Brienne,” the familiar voice answered her greeting. “I see you have managed to unearth our Ser Goldenhand.”

Brienne nodded as if he could see it. “I have. Mostly.” she sat in Renly’s chair in the office. Renly and Loras had taken the week off to vacation in the Summer Isles. She hadn't taken a vacation in two years and wouldn't know what to do with herself if she had. “He casts a striking figure.” she said with all the nonchalance she could muster. In truth, the face and manner of the figure on the canvas had captivated her. She’d even started working later alone in her studio long after she had sent Pod home. 

“He does that,” Tyrion agreed over the phone. “Tell me, when will you begin on the other figure? The Just Maid?”

Brienne shrugged, then again cursed her awkwardness with gratitude that she was the only one to see it. “Actually, she is probably the final section i will be working on.”

“You are doing an amazing job.” Tyrion said. “Have I mentioned that?”

Only every phone call, she thought but pushed the sourness of the thought away. Brienne had never been comfortable with compliments, she was trying to learn to take her accolades as well as she took the jabs about her looks, her height and her mannish form. “Uhm, thanks?”

“Ever the humble artist.” Tyrion sighed. “Are we still on track for the proposed date of completion?”

“Actually, now that I have a set method for the intentional damage restoration, I am going faster than before.”

“Brilliant!” Tyrion said.”Just brilliant!”

Brienne ended the call. “Next time he calls outside of our schedule, tell him I am busy, or...otherwise indisposed.”

Pod shrugged. “He is really intimidating on the phone.”

Brienne moved back to her studio and sat in front of the painting. She ran her gloved hand lightly over the face of Ser Goldenhand and wondered, not for the first time, how she would let him go.

 

“When are you coming back to the studio?” Renly wined.

“I’m ahead of schedule on the painting, Renly. I just need some time.” The truth was close enough for government work. “Why don't you have someone else finish it?”

“Because Tyrion Lannister has insisted that it's your work to finish. We have a deadline, Brie. What is up with you?”

The Just Maid wasn't a beautiful and striking woman with windblown hair and delicate features. She wasn't even in the same neighborhood as pretty; plain was too kind a justification. Even with the three quarters profile she could see the resemblance. The set of the mouth, the crooked nose. The scar/

And the eyes, gods even the eyes!!

The Just Maid wore the same face Brienne has seen in the mirror for 27 years. There was some cosmic joke in the thing; she had wondered if there was an elaborate jape at her expense; she would believe that had she not done the age testing and seen the results herself. “The painting is almost done.”

“Then get back here and finish it Brie. This isn't like you.” Renly’s voice held frustration, disgust and a distinct note of disappointment. “The other paintings are complete and ready to be shipped off to Casterly.”

She knew she had to pull it together; knew it was time to put her big girl panties back on and return from her three day freak out. “Fine, Renly. I will be there in the morning.” She hung up before Renly could say anything more and returned to the cocoon of her bed.

 

She was both saddened and elated to see the thing go. Her colleagues had seen the painting and all agreed that it was a strong likeness. Brienne, not wanting any more attention shrugged and took a month vacation. 

“I’ve earned it Renly. Nearly a year spent on that painting alone.”

“You were well compensated for it. The Lannisters set your bonus five times that of everyone else.”

Tyrion Lannister had laughed at her in that last conversation, mentioning about Lannisters and debts and how her painting had just been so pivotal that it was necessary. He threatened to send more money if she said one more word against the over indulgent sum. 

“So give me my sabbatical and stop looking at me like I am running off to Dorne.” She said. “I need time off.”

“Word's gotten out about our work with the Lannisters. We’re being courted by a few museums in Essos. I can’t afford to be down one of my best restorers when we are about to get slammed.”

She decided she deserved to get away from it all for a while. She wanted to go home to Tarth and see her father and maybe rethink her career goals. Working for Renly had been great, but Catelyn Stark had been nosing around her in recent weeks, asking after a meeting to discuss her career. Maybe it was time for a change. “Renly, I love you. You and I both know the chance you gave me opened a lot of doors I would not have gotten. But I am telling you, if you relent on this then I will tender my resignation.”

In the end, Renly did relent, though with pouting and his typical passive aggression when faced with not doing things his way. Brienne cleared off her things and allowed Pod to begin the processes for the next set of work. “He’s good,” she soothed to Renly. “Pod will follow my directions to the letter. It's how I trained him.”

“I should have trained you the same way.” Renly mumbled but hugged her. “Have a good time on Tarth, don't spend all of that money in one place.”

Two days into her sabbatical and her cell phone rang during her packing for Tarth. She frowned at the unfamiliar number and worried that it was either a prank or a cold call. She frowned into her greeting and laid in for the worst. “Ah, Ms. Tarth. So glad to catch you at home. I’d been told you were making your way to your homelands for your vacation.”

“Mr. Lannister--” she sighed into the uncomfortable correction. “Tyrion. How can I help you? I trust there is no issue with the delivery or the painting itself?”

“Oh, no, no, no. In fact it's even more striking in person. I cannot tell you how happy I am with your work.”

Brienne counted to three before answering. “Of course. Well I am glad you like it. I really am in the middle of--”

Tyrion cleared his throat as he broke into her conclusion. “I am calling for a much different reason. I am actually asking for a favor if you will.”

“A favor?” Brienne asked.

“Well, more like an opportunity. The official exhibit opening will be next week. Your colleagues are all invited of course.”

She knew, it was the only topic of discussion the week before she left. They had all made plans to drive down in three cars and make a week of it. It was part of the reason she had bailed. But only part of the reason. Truth was she could not get that damned thing out of her head. She found herself going over the photos of the painting; the beautiful man, the scarred visage of the tall woman next to him. The love in both their eyes. It wavered between a sweet fantasy and a biting taunt against what she knew she would never have. “I’ll be on Tarth for that. I am sorry, Tyrion but you can understand the need for attention to family?”

“Absolutely. Which is why I am extending a much different invitation to you.” he said. “My family is having a private showing two nights from now. These paintings are not part of our history, not privately. But the one you worked on has to do with one of our ancestors. It would mean the world to me if you could come? Give my family a face to the name?”

 

In the end he had managed to wear her down, he was insistent and every excuse she laid was met with another accommodation. “I just really need you to see it where it stands.” Tyrion insisted finally.

He’d arranged a private jet that would fly her to Lannisport for the evening then fly her to Tarth. “A Lannister always pays his debts.” Tyrion assured her. “And for certain, I do believe we owe you this one.”

She sighed into the backseat of the limo that had met her flight. If nothing else, Brienne got to see how the other side lived for one day. Tyrion had even put her in the finest hotel in Lannisport for the evening, with all expenses paid. 

The ride to Casterly left her more nervous than she felt she had a right to be. How would they react to seeing her face and her scar on the painting of prominence in their home? These were people accustomed to lush beauty and Brienne was no where near that standard.

“It's just one evening.” she told herself as she made her way out of the car and to the brightly lit castle. “It's not like you are trying to marry into the family or anything. More a glorified servant.”

She was lead through the building and into an artfully lit room where people were milling about. The poshness she cruised through along the way left her heart clenched and her stomach bathed in bile. “I should not have come her.” she told herself as a mantra as she made her way through to the gallery. “I should be on Tarth, in my pajamas with one fist full of Ben and Jerry’s and the TV remote in the other.”

A small man met her at the foyer of the gallery. He looked up at her as if she were a ghost. Brienne had a feeling she was going to get that a lot. “You are tall.” he announced through a wide smile. “Tyrion Lannister. It is nice to finally meet you, Miss Tarth.”

“You as well, Tyrion. We spoke on the phone so much and it's nice to put a face to the name.”

“Google could have done that.” he grinned. “But, I am so happy you are here. We will be revealing the painting in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m not giving a speech or even any attention at all, Tyrion.” she affirmed.

Tyrion nodded as he lead her to her seat. “I am just going to mention your name.” he assured her. “But there are many here who would love to speak with you, even throw some work your way. It is an excellent restoration.”

True to his word, the last painting was unveiled on time. No one turned their heads to her as Tyrion went on about the history of the painting and spoke about the restoration versus the original.

“After the death of Tyrion the Wise” The room tittered as Tyrion took a small bow. “The painting was destroyed by unknown relatives. Not wishing to have such nefarious company within the hallowed halls of Casterly, it was taken from the Great Hall and left to languish in the shadows here. As others came and went through history, the other paintings in the set also made their way to the dungeons. We think that this particular painting was doused with crude oil and a mixture of other base materials. I am surprised no one painted over it.”

“Not a lot of artists in our family,” a voice shouted from across the room.

Tyrion laughed along with the rest of the group. “Quite right, Jaime. Lions don't paint. But we do destroy. This painting almost was very nearly destroyed. We almost lost an important piece of our family history. If not for the fine work of one restoration expert, we would have lost the whole thing.”

The speech ended, the painting was revealed to gasps around the room. A blond man that Brienne could only see from behind made his way to the painting. He stood on the side of Ser Goldenhand and stared. As people made their way around the room, Tyrion came to her seat and smiled. She had been trying to ignore the stares and gasps until she realized none of them were aimed toward her. “You do bare a striking resemblance to The Just Maid.” Tyrion said next to her.

Brienne nodded. She had expected the accusation but was surprised that it only came from him. Surprised and relieved. “There is, however, one person I would like you to meet.”

Brienne shook her head. “I should really go.”

“Ten minutes,” Tyrion plead. “I think you’ll want to see this.”

Tyrion lead her past the other paintings to the one in front. The tall figure continued to stare at the painting. When his hand reached out to touch the canvas as they approached, Brienne found herself speaking. “Please, don't touch it. It's a delicate piece and human oils can break down the paint.”

The blond turned to say something, from the sneer on his face it was set to be biting and acidic. His face fell in an instant. He turned to look at the painting then at her again. “Little brother,” he said. “DId you maybe put something in my drink?”

Tyrion’s laugh bounced around the walls of the room. Brienne turned around to realize the room was empty except for the three of them. Apparently there had been a call for dinner. ”I swear, Brother. This is the painting.”

Brienne felt uncomfortable under the man’s scrutiny until she realized his face. “Oh my gods.” she said under her breath. Suddenly, the room was too hot, the lights to bright. She wanted to sit down but the row of chairs were too far away. “Oh my gods.” she said again.

Tyrion shrugged. “I knew it was you, “ he told his brother. “I saw the images they would send and it was   
.” He looked at the tall blond woman and smiled. “This,” he said with a wave at Brienne. “Was a surprise for me as well.”

The blond turned his head to study her. “Who are you?” he asked angrily. “And why would you do this?”

Brienne took a step back. “I...I didn’t do anything! I was, and am, as surprised as you are!”

Tyrion placed his hand on his brother’s leg. “Jaime, please don't scare the poor girl. She’s the one who restored the painting, not the painter.” 

Jaime continued his glare at her before looking back at the painting. “How in the Seven Hells did this…” he drawled off. “You altered it.” he accused again.

“I don’t even know who you are!” she shouted back.

“Brienne Tarth, this is my older and angrier brother. Jaime.”

“Tarth?” he said with less anger and more curiosity. “That explains a bit.”

Brienne did not extend her hand and neither did Jaime. They continued to glare at one another with Tyrion as tennis match patron in between. “I should go.” she stammered.

“You should.” Jaime nodded, then glared at his brother. “Great one, Tyrion. You got me. This makes up for the time I put those lifts in your shoes.”

“Jaime, don't be an ass.” But Brienne did not hear anymore, her feet had already began to carry her back to the front of the house. By sheer will she made it to the front door and found the servant who insisted in calling her car. 

 

White Harbor was far colder than the Stormlands. Even in the middle of summer you had to take a sweater with you. Just in case. 

Brienne loved her new job, a vast change from the smaller more intimate studio with Renly but much more challenging. Catelyn Stark had made her an offer she could not refuse and Brienne had no desire to stay in a job where she would always only be second string. She headed the natural restoration department and had three people on her team. Sansa and Pod had followed her to White Harbor, Sansa’s mother nearly insisted on her daughter’s return, but Sansa admitted it was her fangirling that had alerted her mother to Brienne’s abilities.

Tyrion had called soon after she made her way to White Harbor and assured her he did not think she had anything to do with the painting. It was the same thing he had said in the four emails she had ignored. 

Renly had been angry with her departure but had understood her need to branch off and to learn new methods. She’d heard he had hired some new staff members from the Westerlands. The restoration of the Casterly lot had put Renly on the map, and many had come to learn their methods at his studio.

Three months into her new digs and Brienne was finally starting to put Ser Goldenhand and The Just Maid in the past. Tyrion had thrown work her way as promised, and Catelyn Stark was grateful for the monetary injection into her still fledgling business.

Right before the holidays, she received a phone call again from a number she didn't recognize. Brienne twisted the phone in her hand as it vibrated and considered declining the call.

“Hello,” she heard from across the lines after she hit the green button. “Is this Brienne Tarth?”

“It is.” she answered. 

The person seemed want for words, a small, full silence crawled around the edges. “I wanted to apologize to you for my actions last summer.” he said.

She knew who it was then, “I’m sorry, who is this?”

He chuckled but went on. “I was an ass, my brother tells me he had the painting analyzed, just to shut me up.” 

“You are actually capable of that?” she bit, then immediately felt self conscious about it. “I’m sorry, that was--”

“Completely warranted.” Jaime answered. She could feel his smile in his words. “I’m in White Harbor for the week. Have dinner with me?”

“Mr. Lannister, while I appreciate your apology, I really don't think that would be a good idea.”

“Sure it is. My driver will pick you up from work at 5.” With that, he hung up before she could deny him again.

 

The restaurant was simple but held that elegance that only the rich would incorporate. Brienne was lead to a room in the back, private but beautifully styled. “You made it.” he said from the booth in the center of the room.

“I didn't think it was a choice.” she fired back. She had not noticed how beautiful the man was when he was hurling accusations at her in the gallery. Now, she felt nervous, twitchy as if there was a huge gag reel being filmed with her as the star.

Jaime laughed but motioned for her to sit. “I really am sorry about last summer.” 

“So you say,” Brienne shrugged as she searched the menu. She wondered how many meals she would have to go without to be able to pay her tab at the end of the night.

“So I say.” he nodded. The waiter took their orders and Jaime added a request for a bottle of wine that was equal to her month’s salary. When the wine arrived he poured a glass for each of them. Jaime raised his glass and toasted to her vast ability. “Thank you for returning our history to us.” he said. 

They drank deeply of the sweet Arbor and Jaime smiled as he placed his glass down. “You know the story, then.”

Of course she did, she had researched the story while working on the restoration. It was an obscure piece of history but extremely romantic. “They were warriors during the Long Night.” she shrugged.

“Who happen to bear our likenesses and our names. “ Jaime shrugged himself and took another long drink of his wine as if for courage. “They’re us.”

Brienne felt the snort emerge from her nose, then mouth. Within moments her entire face was collapsed into laughter, her face red, her hands shaking with the laugh. “You are serious?” she asked when she noticed that Jaime was not laughing.

“I am.” he nodded. 

“Convince me.” she said airily with a wave of her large hand.

So he did.

 

At the weekend of their wedding later that year, Tyrion convinced them to reenact the picture in the godswood of Casterly. Jaime dressed in Lannister armor while Brienne wore the blue armor of The Just Maid that Jaime had gifted her with for her last birthday. They used old swords from the armory of Casterly and angled toward each other with Tyrion calling audibles on how to make the photo more authentic.

But in that moment, amid the weirwood trees and the fine autumn air, Brienne saw on his face the very look directed to her that she had fallen in love with in that painting. He held her hand and she his, and as the camera snapped Brienne felt a sensation of Deja Vu, enough to send a shudder through her in the warm afternoon.


End file.
